A Machine for Pork
by Chronbrofox
Summary: Alexander works the hard shift in Brennenburg's kitchens.
1. Chapter 1

Brennenburg's kitchen, located within the prison, was dark and very cold. The floor was covered in many layers of dust, which added to the dreariness of the brownish gray walls and floor. A few puddles of blood were splattered all over the room, and a large wooden table lay at the back of the kitchen. Standing beside it was an old graying man wearing a bloodied apron and a chef's hat, in his hands a sharp rectangular butcher's knife with which he cut up the prisoners of the his castle. One could not tell, at first sight, that there was something extremely wrong about this man, but upon closer inspection they would be able to notice the strange enlargement of his eyes as he gleefully cut up his victims' bodies, as well as that he enjoyed licking blood and always wore a demonic frown upon his face.

"ALEXANDERRRRR!" Came a grunting and raspy voice that sounded like the cackle of an old witch. The doors into his kitchen burst open and in came one of the baron's zombie-like servants, with their monstrous claws and limping, pieced-together body of bandages; in its hands was a small, wooden box with a few tattered pieces of meat, skin, and bones hanging out of it.

"My catch for the day," Prison Grunt #7 exclaimed. "One of the pigs had tried to escape, but we managed to track it. It didn't go down without a fight, though, but we slew the little devil in the end. It shall make a fine meal of pork tonight."

"Very well; bring his body forward," the Baron responded.

Prison Grunt #7 placed the box upon the table and Alexander opened it up to find the bloodied, yet nicely packaged body of a delicious and particularly dead pig inside. He poked at it for a few seconds, as if to ascertain the juiciness of its body, and he squeezed the pig's face as well as its arms and legs.

"Well?" Prison Grunt #7 asked.

"Would you like today's serving of pork boiled or roasted?" Alexander asked.

"We prison grunts love soup best," the fiendish creature responded. "Won't you boil it for us in hot water?"

"I shall," Alexander answered with a sigh. "Go. I will make this meal now."

He took the dead pig out of the box and placed it upon a sheet of oiled paper. With a scissor, Alexander cut the clothes off its body and then proceeded to add spices around it; a few vegetables, such as peas and corn and carrots, as well as sweet chili and other things to improve its taste. The baron then put his hand upon the pig's face, feeling that it was cold and very bony and very thin. He then raised his knife and-

"ALEXANDER!" Came a loud and boisterous voice from the door behind him.

Sewer Brute #3 charged into the room, and he, too, was carrying a box in his hands. This one, however, bore a head clearly hanging out from it, and a tongue rolled out of its mouth.

"Juicy little fiend!" the Brute yelled before throwing Alexander the box. "This one was trying to escape from the torture chambers through the sewer. It took forever for me to track it down. Little pig kept hiding from me! I'll be dining in the Back Hall tonight; make the pork good!"

"But, I'm already making pork soup!" Alexander complained as he began using his knife to behead the dead pig and slowly remove the bones from its body. The baron knew that Brutes, unlike the prison grunts, detested soup and much preferred to eat roasted or fried pork.

"A lot of people are dining tonight," Sewer Brute #3 complained. "Our monthly reunion is today, remember? You're going to have to make pork for every servant in this castle."

"What!? Why didn't anyone tell me about this!?" Groaning in frustration, Alexander cut open the pig's body and slowly began taking out each and every one of its organs, starting with its brain, which was just a bit too big for the pig's head. Even as he worked, the Brute's mouth began to water, salivating at the thought of eating delicious pork with all his friends after a long and hard day's work of patrolling.

"Okay, so do you want the pork roasted or fried?" Alexander asked.

"I'd prefer to eat it fried!" Sewer Brute #3 replied. "I told you before about how good fried pork tastes, especially if you crisp the skin just right. Oh, and did you know that it actually tastes better if you use more Kaernk saliva than Grunt oil?"

"Oh, really?" Alexander raised the pig's body up into the air and threw out the rest of its organs, so that only the meat, skin and some bones remained. It was ready to be cooked.

Inside the prison's kitchens was a secret chamber where lay the Machine, a Machine for pork, to be exact, because it could only cook pigs, the favourite food of the Gatherers. The construction of the machine dated back several hundred years, to a time known as the Dark Ages, when Alexander lived secretively in his castle, creating many innovative tools and inventions of technological progress while the rest of the world wasted away and became annihilated by plagues and famine. Originally the Machine was used as a torture device to inflict all sorts of delicious, vitae-extracting pain upon the baron's prisoners, but since Alexander had crafted the food-needy Gatherers, he gave to the Machine its second purpose of cooking pigs.

Nobody (except for the Baron himself) knew how to access the secret chamber which contained the Machine. But since he was making dinner, Alexander had already taken out the Machine and placed it beside the kitchen shelves.

"Well then, I will also serve fried pork for you tonight," Alexander said. He placed the pig's body into a bowl, laid alongside all the other spices, and then went to fetch some water for it.

"Alright, then! I will see you tonight at th-"

"ALEXANDERRRRRR!" A high and nasally voice yelled; and Storage Grunt #8 burst into the room, shoving his way past Sewer Brute #3 who was just about to leave.

"My friends and I heard the big news! That means we'll be dining in the Back Hall tonight for the reunion," Grunt #8 yelled excitedly; he too, had a box in his hands.

"Oh, what is it this time?" Alexander sighed. After filling the bowl up with water, the Baron made towards the Machine and placed the bowl within it, moving the setting upon "boil".

"All the other Gatherers will be there, so you've got to cook some good food!" Storage Grunt #8 yelled. "Here, I've brought you something delicious."

Alexander walked towards the grunt and opened up his box to find two dead pigs inside; one was old and had short and half-grayed hair as well as a thin and pale wrinkled face. Its hands were still tightly clutched to what appeared to be a book. The other was a female who wore a pink dress and had long brown hair; she had a lantern with her. Alexander recognized the latter as one of his earlier prisoners, although the former was definitely an outsider.

"My friend, Storage Grunt #5, loves roasted pork," Grunt #8 exclaimed excitedly. "You've got to make that for us!"

"But, I'm already cooking pork soup and fried pig!"

"But, Alexander!" Grunt #8 whined, "So many of your servants will be at the feast tonight! Two dishes can't possibly feed them all!"

"I'm so busy these days," Alexander grunted. "So many orders pouring in; I haven't gotten any rest in five days!"

"Please, Alexander?"

The Baron crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. "Just this once, I suppose." A look of joy appeared upon Storage Grunt #8's face, as well as Sewer Brute #3's, the latter who had remained in the room but was now leaving. "But after today, I'm taking a week off. That Vitae isn't going to extract itself, you know."

"We'll see you at the banquet tonight," Grunt #8 said. At that moment the Machine began to start up, a low and deep rumble erupting from its engines. The room seemed to shake for a second, as if startled by an Earthquake, and then the Machine got to work, steam pumping out of its bellows and levers and gears beginning to rotate. Inside the device the heat would slowly boil the pig as well as the water it had been immersed in to create, within minutes, some delicious pork soup.

"You're so amazing, Alexander," Storage Grunt #8 praised his master before giving Alexander a quick hug and causing the baron to grumble in annoyance. The Grunt then turned around and made for the exit of the room.

Alexander sighed as he placed Grunt #8's box upon the table beside the earlier pig that the Brute had delivered. He decided to rest a bit, waiting for the Machine to finish its current task of creating pork soup before getting started on anything else. The baron preferred to do things one at a time, to finish making one dish before doing the next. Perhaps that was the reason why his work had been so slow the past few days.

All of a sudden movement caught the edge of his eyes, and Alexander saw the cap of Grunt #8's box raise. He rushed towards it and opened the box up to find that the pig inside had its eyes open, which widened a bit as soon as the pig saw someone that looked remotely similar to itself standing before it. Blood caked the pig's mouth, and its voice was very weak as it spoke:

"My name is...Klaas Gottschall," the pig whispered. "You're...human, aren't you? Not...like the rest of them. Please...save me..."

Alexander shook his head. "Silly pig," he answered. "Pork can't be human," and with one swoop of his knife, cut the pig's neck off. He quickly went back to his grisly work.


	2. Chapter 2

Oswald Mandus had been wracked with fever for the past several weeks, leaving much of the management of his company as well as his employees in the care of select coworkers. Today, however, he had had a sudden renewal of energy, and felt active enough to return to work. The current managers of his company were already doing a wonderful job, and Oswald decided to reward them by throwing a corporate party. They were invited to his mansion that night to eat dinner.

The dining room was well lit and bounding with activity while Oswald arrived with all the food he had prepared for the feast. Everyone was busy talking until the bell rang to signify that dinner was ready. Each individual seated themselves at the dining table, with Oswald (who was still a bit weak with his sickness) at the very front. Everybody clapped to congratulate Oswald's efforts as well as his miraculous recovery while he took his seat - in full capitalist costume: a black suit and tie and top hat - to declare the opening of the meal.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Oswald said once the room was quiet. "It is a pleasure to have all of you over for dinner tonight. I must thank you for all the hard work that you've put into the management of my company while I was sick." He paused to cough, evidently still a bit weak from his ordeal with the terrible fever. "Thus, this meal that I have cooked is to show my appreciation for all of you, my friends."

There was a round of applause and loud clapping.

"Without further ado, let us sit down and begin this feast!"

Everyone cheered before lifting up the covers of their bowls to begin eating. Oswald felt surprisingly hungry and was the first to dig into his food, tearing up slice after slice of meat with his knife and fork and stuffing each portion greedily into his mouth. He ate almost sloppily, though this was to be excused considering the fact that he hardly ate well while he had been sick. But even Oswald himself was aware that he was perhaps overdoing it: saliva dripped from his mouth, and an uncanny glare shone in his eyes as he stared with frenzy at the meat out on the plate before him. It took a while for him to realize that the room had gone deathly silent, and that no one was eating anything.

"Is there something wrong?" Oswald asked, food still in his mouth.

"Uh..." One of his friends, an individual by the name of Daniel, began: "This certainly wasn't what we've expected." He pointed to all the food across the table.

"What's the problem?"

Another man, Thomas, was almost about to eat but had dropped the food back onto his plate from his fork when he saw how greedily Oswald had been eating. "It's...well, all meat."

"Pork, specifically," Daniel added. "We didn't expect our dinner to be all pork and nothing else." He poked at the slices of meat on his plate with his fork as if to test its quality and juiciness. Across the table, no other food was available. Pork lay upon everybody's plate.

Oswald had finally calmed himself and stopped eating, though the man still appeared ravenously hungry. He leaned back in his seat. "But pork is healthy for you, wouldn't you think?"

Doubtful murmurs and whispers rose across the table.

Oswald sighed. "I can't let all this food go to waste. Come on, everybody - eat up! I've prepared this tender and delicious pork" - saliva began to drip from his mouth again - "just for you gentlemen tonight."

Slowly, people began to bring the pork onto their forks and into their mouths. Everybody was about to resume eating normally when suddenly a woman by the name of Justine declared: "What is that smell coming from that kitchen!?"

Others were beginning to notice it too. Immediately handkerchiefs were brought to noses while cries of utter disgust and revulsion began to spread across the table. Oswald had smelled the foul and rancid odour as well, though a bit later than the others; he stood up from his seat and hurried into the kitchen to check out where it was coming from. He hurried towards the iced storage box behind some drawers where he kept all his usual food and pulled the box out.

The stench was almost stifling. Enhanced by his weakened and sick state, Oswald felt like he was going to vomit. All the raw pork had become almost a putrid rotten. He wondered why he had not observed the state of the food in the box before he had begun cooking dinner; now all of it would have to be thrown out. With a groan of disgust, Oswald dumped the box into the nearest garbage can before hurrying back into the dining room to his distressed colleagues to relay the news.

"What was going on?" Daniel asked.

"Most of the pork has gone bad," Oswald replied, much to the dismay of those across the room who had already begun eating. Several of them looked like they were about to vomit as well and excused themselves to leave the room. The others remained seated, albeit with hardly concealed looks of disgust upon their faces.

"Where did you even get all this pork from, anyways?" Thomas asked from the far end of the table. A handkerchief was still held against his nose.

"I was going to announce the news after dinner was over," Oswald answered with a sigh, "But I suppose I'll tell you now."

The man stood up and took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders: "Just last week, I signed a business deal with Brennenburg® incorporated, a company from Prussia who is interested in selling us their goods." Mutters of surprise rose across the table, and Oswald remained from speaking until everyone had quieted down again. "After reading over all the terms and conditions, I have agreed to their offer. Our benefit is a weekly supply of pork and various culinary instruments which will be delivered to my house every Saturday."

Questioning looks appeared from everybody across the table. Daniel was the first to stand up and ask, "What good would that do?"

"Daniel, my friend," Oswald answered in the most pleasant tone he could muster, "Pork is the healthiest of all foods! Only the wealthiest are able to acquire it for consumption." When he saw that no one appeared satisfied with his response, Oswald cleared his throat and continued: "Tell you what. I know that tonight's dinner was rather outrageous - but I'll cook all of you another meal in no time. Why don't you fine gentlemen stay for a couple more hours?"

There were audible groans from all his guests - evident that most of them now wanted to leave - but Oswald did not wait for a response from them. He hurried out of the dining room, going downstairs past the kitchen and towards the storage part of his basement where all the pork had been delivered last Saturday. There was sure to be some fresh ones left for him to butcher up and cook.

The storage was dark and cold - the perfect environment for long-term storing of food. Oswald lit up a lantern and walked towards the place where all the live pigs were kept. He found it strange that his business partner from Brennenburg® inc. (a man by the name of Alexander) had delivered all the pigs to him in large cages, and recommended that they be kept tightly behind bars. Oswald thought that a sty would've been far more fitting, though he had to admit - these pigs were very much on the large side. He approached one of the cells where a family of pigs was kept. Inspecting them from behind bars, Oswald noted that they were all asleep; he quickly decided that the youngest of them, a male piglet, looked the most plump and juicy and would well serve to be tonight's main course.

Using the machine that he had crafted for the specific task of the retrieval of pigs, Oswald lifted the piglet out of its cell and placed it within a small cage. He noticed that the family behind the bars began to squeal in pleading fright and terror as their youngest disappeared, and Oswald nearly had to plug his ears in order to preserve his sanity and concentration. There was something strange about the way these pigs screamed: they seemed to make very coherent sounds and syllables with each shriek, almost as if they were speaking actual words. Oswald laughed it off; he was probably just feeling sick again. But he would be well enough to cook for the night, and quickly took the caged piglet to one of the culinary instruments sent from Brennenburg® incorporated.

Alexander had given him very specific instructions. The butchering must be prolonged for as long as possible in order to saturate the pigs' blood with the maximum amount of an apparently delicious and life-nurturing liquid before they were cooked. Oswald hung the little male piglet, bound and gagged, up-side down from a rope. His culinary instrument of choice today was to be the saw. As he worked, Oswald thought that he heard very familiar and intelligible cries of pain from the gagged pig, but shrugged it off again as due to the effects of his sickness. He would not stop at anything to provide dinner for his guests tonight in order to save his dignity and reputation.

Once the pig was fully butchered, he placed it within another storage box before bringing it back upstairs into the kitchen. For some reason, he suddenly felt extremely tired and not up to cooking for the night, and so he called down his chef.

Half a minute later, a skulking man with a rather large jaw entered the room. He was one of the servants sent from Brennenburg® incorporated to help cook the pigs, a man by the name of Mr. Grunt.

"I must say, you're a better butcher than my former master was," Mr. Grunt said as he unveiled the lid of the storage box and saw the freshly sliced up pig meat inside. "It's absolutely saturated with Vitae."

"Oh, is that what they call it?" Oswald knew he had forgotten the name of the special liquid preserved in the pigs' blood.

"Master Alexander told me not long ago that Vitae can only be sufficiently produced in humans," Mr. Grunt continued as he took the meat out of the box. "I'm surprised that he was wrong after all. Who knew that pigs could prove so effective?"

"Yep," Oswald answered with an uncanny smile upon his face, "These are some excellent pigs, alright."


End file.
